Day of Thanks
by piccolina789
Summary: There's something about this time of year that makes you realize what's really important. Entry to the November Thanksgiving challenge on CSIFO. GSR. Happy Turkey Day!


**A/N: **This story is my response to the November Thanksgiving challenge at CSIFO. I cheated and combined two of the prompts, A (Thanksgiving on the first year Grissom and Sara got together) and C (Thanksgiving in the year of your choice). It is exactly 1,000 words.

Hope you enjoy, and Happy Turkey Day to all who celebrate!

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><p><em>Thanksgiving 2005<em>

The sun was setting over Las Vegas, turning the sky outside a blend of molten, glowing hues. Despite December being only weeks away, the temperature remained a stubborn sixty-five degrees, making it feel more like spring than November.

Sara sullenly picked at her mashed potatoes. They were perfectly mashed, blended with the right amount of seasoning and gravy, but she couldn't bring herself to eat them. She pushed them around her plate, into the pile of creamed corn and around by the green bean casserole.

"Didn't you ever learn not to play with your food?"

Sara looked up. Grissom was smiling cautiously at her, holding a forkful of stuffing above his full plate.

"Sara," Grissom said warmly. "_It's okay_."

An unbelievable amount of frustration welled within her, and she tossed her fork to her plate with a loud clatter. The few people occupying the many tables around them turned to stare at her in surprise.

"No it's not," she insisted.

She pushed her chair back from the table and bolted for the door. Outside, she silently cursed the still warm air, wishing it were chilly and crisp, perhaps with even a bit of snow. She chalked it up to just one more thing gone wrong.

She heard the tiny bell above the door jingle behind her. She knew it was him, and the hands around her shoulders a few seconds later confirmed it. He didn't say a thing, but pulled her to him, burying her head in his soft, warm chest. She was enveloped by the smell of him, and though she always felt relaxed and safe within his embrace, she felt tears building behind her closed eyes. She pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Grissom was staring at her, a concerned look on his face. She crossed her arms in front of her, and leaned back onto the brick of the building.

"It's our first Thanksgiving together," she said softly. "And we're at a _buffet_."

The door jingled again, and a couple no younger than eighty walked past. Sara watched them go before speaking again.

"I wanted it to be perfect."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Grissom nod.

"I know," he said softly. "It's not your fault honey."

"What isn't?" she asked bitterly. "That I burned the tofu turkey? Almost set fire to your townhouse? That I forgot to make gravy and the cranberry sauce tasted like tar?"

Grissom chuckled softly, despite himself.

"It's not funny."

"It's not," he said, composing himself. "I know it's not. But can I be honest with you?"

Sara sighed and nodded.

"You're a terrible cook," he said, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders and turning her towards him. "And I love that about you."

He leaned forward and planted a kiss in the middle of her forehead.

"Look, our first Thanksgiving might not have been picture-perfect, but who wants that?" he said. "This will make a great story some day."

Sara gave a small, relieved smile.

"You're right," she admitted. "I'm sorry."

Grissom placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head towards him. Their lips met, cautiously at first, but hunger growing in them with each passing moment. Grissom kissed her cheek, then underneath her ear.

"What would you say to a big slice of pumpkin pie in bed?"

"I'd say that sounds perfect," Sara sighed, her hand lingering on Grissom's face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he assured, taking her hand. "I have a lot to be thankful for."

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><p><em>November 2011<em>

It was an abnormally chilly November in Las Vegas that year. As the sun set on Thanksgiving Day, thermostats dipped to forty degrees, and those dashing in and out of houses could see vapor forming in the air each time they let out a breath.

At Gil Grissom's townhouse, the food had long been eaten, the pie long inhaled and the guests had cleared. Grissom handed plate after plate to his wife, who wiped them systematically, with a smile on her face all the while. From the corner of her eye, Sara could see her husband watching her every move.

"What?" she challenged.

"I've never known someone to enjoy washing the dishes _so_ much," he teased.

Sara took the plate in Grissom's hands, and plopped it back into the soapy water. She slid her palms across his chest, under his bright blue apron, a semi-thoughtful gift from Greg that declared _"Kiss the Cook" _in yellow block letters.

Sara took her husband's face in her hands, pressing her lips against his and feeling the warmth from his touch spread to the tips of her fingers. A knock came from the kitchen door, and they pulled apart.

"So sorry – how rude of me to interrupt," Betty signed, the wide smile on her face revealing that she really wasn't sorry at all.

"That's okay, Mom," Grissom signed back, taking the dishtowel from her hand. "Sara and I can handle what's left."

"Thanks for all your help, Betty," Sara signed. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Of course, dear," Betty signed back. "I love you both."

She embraced her son and daughter-in-law and paused near the door.

"It may have taken longer than I thought, but I'm glad we were finally able to do dinner," she signed, her hands flying and her smile wide.

Sara beamed back at her before turning back to her husband.

"I can't believe you told _everyone _about the Great Thanksgiving Disaster of 2005," she said, punching him softly in the shoulder. "I will _never _hear the end of that."

Grissom laughed and ran his hands down her arms, resting them on her hips.

"Well, I think you redeemed yourself tonight."

"A lot has changed since then," Sara laughed.

"Hmm," Grissom murmured against her lips in agreement. "But some things haven't."

Sara pulled away, a suspicious look in her eye. Grissom reached out to push a wayward curl from her face.

"I have a lot to be thankful for."


End file.
